Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood
by bikiniwax
Summary: The Russian let her cigarette fall between her fingers and for a second Revy is hoping she'll pin her to something- anything, as long as her muscular body was pressed close while shaking with rage. In other words, Balalaika and Revy check each other out. And deal with whatever happens next.
1. Consideration

really liked their interactions; as limited as it was.

* * *

Revy squatted in the shallow water, wringing the maroon skirt. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She squinted her eyes in the dim light of the fading afternoon sun.

"Fucking great," the gunwoman muttered, rubbing the bar of soap harder into the ruined fabric.

Her favorite (and only) pleated skirt. The one that she wore to Japan, worn when she needed to look casual and different from her normal outfit, when she knew there wouldn't be too many gymnastics. And it was stained. The stains belonged to one of the mooks who decided it was fine to just blow his own head off before she could manage to mow him down. Balalaika's ammo shipments had been randomly intercepted; and on the one day she wanted to look kinda nice for Rock.

The said Russian woman stood on the dock to the left of Revy, deep in conversation with Dutch. He was talking about their delay, why Rock was at Chang's - while Balalaika chuckled easily. They talked like old friends. Boris was by the tinted-windowed car, talking tensely in his native language.

Revy always wondered how Balalaika could stand in the tropical humid heat of Roanapour wearing a tight suit; where her thick military coat sat upon her broad shoulders. And while Revy snarled that being as far gone as the war-maniac was (remembering the fiasco with Rock not shutting his _god damn mouth_ ), heat and cold and pain and pleasure probably didn't register anymore.

The ocean lapped lazily at her panty-covered ass and thighs, and every time a larger wave would brush against her stomach Revy wanted to rip the skirt in half. With her luck the blood dye patches of it an ugly color that reminded her of shit and that was _not_ sexy.

Dutch wandered back to the boat, probably to get the schematics that where stolen by the low-class criminals, which Revy shoved unceremoniously by Benny. And Balalaika was by herself on the dock smoking her stupid expensive cigars.

Awkwardness crawled by Revy's spine. Besides the many talks of business, she had little idea what the mafia boss liked to converse about. Guns? Death? Porn editing? She began to feel self conscious of how naked and messy she truly was. The black tank stuck to her braless chest; her faded panties painted on her ass, and her hair mussed from fighting and the ocean salt and sweat.

Looking up to bite out something, Revy looked instead into Balalaika's icy eyes pouring over her form.

A stubborn blush rose up the gunwoman's neck and capped off at her cheeks. She could feel it glowing on her tanned skin; like the faded neon signs dotted around the port city.

The Russian held her cigar stiffly in her long-taloned hand, eyes continuing to scan her form, unabashed by the fact she'd stilled in her scrubbing. Revy wanted to snark "Like what you see?" or "Can I fucking help you, sis?" But the words died on her tongue.

She felt stripped, dissembled, and lined up neatly; her lip nearly quivered. As if Balalaika was naming the bones in her body; each individual bone in her fingers. Revy now felt the older woman's eyes travel up the side of her body: up her kneeling legs, her stomach, her hardened nipples, dipping into her collarbones and up her neck.

There was no doubt about it. Balalaika in her own special way was enjoying the view. Her lips glinted with oily pink lipstick. They wrapped around a stubby cigar, before pursing to let out a steady stream of smoke.

"A ruined skirt? How disappointing, Two Hands," the Russian's voice was rough.

Revy's eyes snapped up in begrudging respect, an almost smile on her face. Her right hand grinding the soap harder. "Yeah, real piece of work it fuckin' is to get blood out of a skirt,"

"Try lime juice or your own spit,"Balalaika replied, stepping one pump on the smoldering end of the cigar.

"Dutch told me about trying the ocean cause of the salt, or even just buying another.." Revy spat on the skirt, taking care to have a thin line of saliva drip from her open mouth to follow the glob. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she returned to eye Balalaika.

Her soap pressed on the saliva, and continued scrubbing; seeing that all of the attention was indeed fading the stain. Revy used her elbow to push up her tank, until it pressed flush to the underside of her breast.

Revy was used to being looked at and lusted over plenty. Nameless goons have tried to flirt and bluff their way into her good graces, but that was before her cutlasses would find their mark. She was even sure Rock had managed one once-over on her, especially when she'd wander the apartment in her underwear. It didn't matter. She knew her gunslinging acrobatics made her body look good; and the high temperatures made sure to show that off. There was no one she wanted to please, except Rock, and even that she wasn't sure of. All in all, she wasn't used to being vulnerable. Revy liked to be dominating.

But this was different. Balalaika'd never flirted with her, or even spared her a glance that would make the gunwoman think things were different between them. She felt an angry weakness, the one who was being inspected, aware of her thighs and shoulders and stomach. She was aware she didn't shave this week, she didn't wash her face and she forgot to brush her teeth. And it pissed her off.

Revy stood up, her toes curling in the sand, her spine straight. She turned her body towards Balalaika, and raised her head questioningly. Her body was on full display, and she wanted to make the woman know she meant it. Her skirt in her had dripped wetly down her thigh.

They held a shared gaze, Balalaika's fingers curling around a lighter; her mouth around a cigarette.

Her panties stuck to her crotch, seemingly transparent; her top like plastic modeled to a figurine. Revy wanted to flip her hair like those Baywatch women, but when she did it stuck to her cheek and she let out a huff. Then, a nail-bitten hand moved up and she pressed it against her ow breast. Revy felt her gaze falter under the glacial look of Balalaika, so cold that she was sure that there was a strange heat to it.

"You want somethin', sis? If Dutch is taking too long I can run and rush him,"

Balalaika shrugged, taking a drag. "Mm. It's fine, he can take as long as he wants. After all, we already have the cargo safely, thanks to tricks of you and your comrades,"

Her words had a natural bite to them. Revy shivered despite the lack of cold. But she needed to get her own point across.

She freely let her eyes wander of the Russian's own form. The tight suit that clung to her waist, where is strained against her hips and breasts, where it wrinkled around her shoulders. Her hands that were always busy with something. Her acrylic nails. The thick scars that seemingly never ended. Once, when Balalaika had leaned over to throw a manila folder on her desk, her sleeve has pushed up and Revy saw a pink smear of scars. She wondered how badly they hurt, and almost wanted to ask.

The Revy let her eyes focus on where her cunt would be, and for a moment she wonders how she tastes despite living only on high-priced liquor and cigars from Havana. Then her gaze went back to Balalalaika's face.

The Russian let her cigarette fall between her fingers and for a second Revy is hoping she'll pin her to something- anything, as long as her muscular body was pressed close while shaking with rage.

"Sis," Her voice was strained.

"Ma'am, we need to leave," Boris's voice broke the enchantment with his usual brusqueness. Revy wished her cutlasses were in her twitching hands.

Balalaika turned, and nodded respectfully at the sergeant. "I'll see to finish the meeting once we head back."

The gunwoman clenched the skirt in her hands, trying to make it seem she wasn't as pissed as she was. She felt a dull throbbing between her legs.

The two ex-Soviets made their way to the black car, with Balalaika pausing mid-step, turning her head in Revy's general direction. "I do hope you get that stain out. If not, I'll be more than happy to buy you a new one. Since yours was ruined on Hotel Moscow's account."

The car drove calmly down the port until it dissipated into the maw of Roanapour. Revy took her skirt between her hands and ripped it in half.


	2. Never Ending

okay. So COBRASTEVE brought up a mighty good point. it would make a nice chapter story, so i'll bite!

Also: I'm thinking of adjusting the rating. I realise I'm stretching the t rating a bit too far.

Disclaimed!

* * *

The skirt, already worn from the washing machine and rough landings, was threadbare by the time the blood stains had faded to an unnoticeable brown stain in the maroon fabric. When it pleated against her thighs she could feel how frayed and thin it became. Under the hot sun she could see her muscled thigh clearly through the fabric, and some patches it was still as thick as when she had stolen it at some thrift store.

Would she still wear it? Hell yes, she would. If to even get the smallest glance up her legs from Rock it would make her the smuggest gunwoman in Roanapur.

But Revy didn't try to care about that. She was pissed about it, well yeah, but she had bigger fish to fry.

What she cared about wasn't that stupid skirt, or how she fucked it even worse, it was her. Balalaika. That stupid voyeurism shit they both pulled. It's a real miracle Balalaika didn't snap her neck right then and there.

Since last week the Lagoon Company had really only done a short cargo trip for Chang and even that was uneventful. He'd asked them to be real careful with the shit as if it were carrying precious medieval glass, but Revy suspected inside was one poor soul that got on the bad side of the Triads again. They all piled onto the boat, and the weather was sunny and the wind had kicked up enough where it was almost pleasant outside.

On that trip Revy lay on one of the benches, bourbon bottle in her lax hand. Rock sat in one of the wooden chairs with his head tilted back and legs spread ever so slightly. He was dozing off, the giant geek, that was how dull the boat ride was. Raising the bottle to her chapped lips Revy gave him a once over. Like old Sis did to her. Fuck her.

The gaze down his face, his relaxed jaw, his shoulders, his dress shirt, where his cock was, then down his legs to his shined shoes. Imagining him naked was easy. More than one occasion did their group go on a 'beach day'; where he'd lie on a towel in the blistering sun trying to tan his pale body.

He wasn't bad on the eyes. Most women made that clear, especially Eda, even Sis had once given him a glance over in her peripheral vision. He was toned from the days of avoiding shrapnel and Revy's rage (which she could control now, by the way!).

There were times at night, or in the dusk when too much shitty liquor made Revy daydream on the couch where she'd imagine fucking him. She'd imagine climbing over him with her usual rough swagger and plant a rough one on him. Shove herself down on him as he cried out her name in between rough kissing. There's a condom in there somewhere. There'd be kissing of raw passion and they'd come and it'd be over. But Revy didn't know if she could.

"Rock," Her voice was rough. "Are you dosin' off over there or something? Dutch said he needs you on deck for those fucking Latinos."

He stirred, and did a sleepy half-smile that made Revy's heart lurch. "Yeah, I was just..."

"Being a lazy ass, yeah I fuckin' get it. No more bourbon for you." She sucked ass at flirting. Her hand twitched in anger. When Rock offered a cigarette she took it hastily, shoving it in her mouth instead of her foot. He light hers before his, and then ran a hand through his perfect half-combed hair absentmindedly.

Rock took care of himself, even _other people_ , and Revy wished she could say that for herself.

She fucking wished she took the time to brush her hair or shave every day. She could pretty herself up, but it was better to not give a shit. You have to climb on others to reach the top. Hell, was she on top or the most bottom tier? Whatever, daisy-dukes and drinking until sunrise are bomb. But of course, her self-assurances on that topic fell flat on its ass once Lagoon met up with Balalaika again. God, Revy just wanted to gain ten inches in her presence.

The Russkie had one fist curled under her chin as she conversed with Dutch and Rock, utterly ignoring the street rat that leaned against the wall.

"Now about the Latinos... They said they wanted to buy? It seems their dealings with that Church proved unsatisfactory. Now they show up, kissing ass for even a machine gun?" She chuckled into her cigar. "Lucky for us."

"Ms. Balalaika... I could very well meet them on the docks, instead," Rock pointed out, obviously remembering the time she shoved her gun under his nose.

"But how would we know this isn't a pathetic setup? Hotel Moscow was promised a swathe cut into Brazil. I'm sick of potentials like them pretending not to speak English." She sounded tired. Her dry humor had Rock's tense shoulders uncoil. Revy's jaw clenched.

"About that, I was thinking of sending in Rock, and have him pretend not to know their language," Dutch interjected smoothly, crossing his arms. "Any moment where it'll seem suspicious, Revy'll tear them a new one."

Revy snapped to attention at the sound of her name; beforehand she was studying the fancy carpet beneath her dirty boots. These negotiations were long, and boring as hell, but she tagged along if even to just receive orders from one of Balalaika's comrades. Just to see her deep fried face. And everything else. Speaking of, she was still wearing her low-cut everything even in the hazy afternoon heat and Revy had to fight her gaze off. What was happening to her? Before she'd never even gave Balalaika a second glance and now it's unbearable to _not_ think of her.

Rock couldn't help himself. "Wouldn't we be scaring them off? There is a large cut being offered and-"

"If they wanted easy why did Alejandro come crawling to us?" the mafia leader concluded. There was no need to answer her question. Revy squirmed in her impatience. The fact she'd have to be all quiet and still resonated on her nerves. "Get to it, I want this done by the end of the week, Dutch. I have other petty thugs to make examples of."

Dutch left first after a casual goodbye, then Rock followed after he gazed confusedly at Revy's slowness to leave. He paused at the door, intending to hold it open for her, and god did she want to punch him again right then and there for just being so stupidly polite.

"Just go," She assured mildly whilst hiding the curdling blood in her veins. Revy flicked her ponytail over her shoulder, meeting Balalaika's iced eyes.

"Don't think I forgot about you, Two Hands. I still owe you," she reassured coldly, as if she was telling the mailman she received the wrong damn package. Blowing smoke out of the corner of her mouth. One finger tapped the phone. Revy's mouth went dry. Her teeth clenched like a vice grip, nodding.

"Yeah. Yeah sis. Don't worry about paying it today or tomorrow." she licked her lips. They felt chapped and strained every time she talked; it was a matter of time until they bled.

Balalaika tilted her head slightly as if stretching a muscle. Revy felt like she was intruding on some private ritual; the magnificent Russian preparing for bed.

Three of Balalaika's comrades entered the room and Revy was unceremoniously kicked out. Back hitting the door, she blinked for a good hard minute before slamming her foot into the wallpaper. Red swarmed in her vision, for a good minute she thought she'd rip her fucking hair out.

 _"Revy!"_

Benny was playing the pop radio in the car and that made Revy swing the car door that much harder. She glared out the window, looking at the squabbling orphans and the overflowing trash cans and other shit no one else wanted. Dutch talked to Benny, ignoring her childish tantrum. Rock looked like an introspective douche in a feel-good movie with an ambiguous ending.

She fucking hates getting teased and played at, it just reminds her of the stupid fucking foster homes where the parents withheld her information whilst squishing her chubby cheeks. The lousy doctors that pretend not to understand why she tried to bite their hand when a stethoscope ran up her chest. It made Revy feel dumb, and yeah she didn't know her times tables but that didn't mean she couldn't damn well flip one.

That night, Revy sunk a finger inside of herself, trying to imagine an undone tie alongside an audacious grin on a man's body. Her wrist cramped when she finally came, and when she did it was in self-loathing hatred on just why couldn't she fuck Rock and get over it.

"Fuck," She grimaced when she thought of Fry Face in her naked crisped glory. Goosebumps rose on her upper arms as she imagined the caress of rough palms up her thighs; the trail of raised skin that long nails left.

Biting her bruised knuckles Revy attempted to hide a scream.

* * *

Yeah there's a chapter after this. It'll be out in quick quick time, lemme tell ya.


	3. Desperado

I don't necessarily have an excuse for how late this is. All I can really say is that I had the bare bones of this chapter laid out, and I needed to fill in the meatier parts.

Also: A huge thanks to the reviewers who made light of the errors in the story; I really appreciate it!

Disclaimed!

* * *

 _There's a hand in her hair, tugging her head into the peeling wallpaper, a low voice at her throat. "You'd like to think this is a children's game."_

 _Long nails curl into her scalp until Revy swears under her breath. Trying to squirm away, she turns her face away, her cheek pressed against the wall. Her shorts fall around her knees which knock into each other, her tank wrinkled up around her upper chest as another manicured hand explores in between the tan lines. "Hm. I bet you do see it as a game, Two Hands, I have noticed you laughing, while you kill droves of those stinking, disgusting, grotesques that were begging for a bullet in between the eyes. Did you even have a childhood?"_

 _Whatever is happening, Revy's wary of the cigar in the Russian's mouth. The smoldering heat is near her pulse; flecks of the burnt remains sting her neck. A pinch on her nipple brings her eyes to to rest on Balalaika's face._

 _"I'm not a fuckin' punching bag, sis. Fuck yo-" The word hiccups on Revy's tongue when Balalaika removes the cigar from her mouth and breathes the smoke into her auburn hair, before trailing her tongue up her neck and into the soft place under her jawline. However-_

"She's asking for you," Benny's head peeked out of her doorway. His thumb gestured back into the living room. Revy groaned into her bed, peeking over to see the dented alarm clock smashed over on the other side of the room. The fading red neon glare read 9:35. In the morning. She shoved her head back into the thin pillow.

"The _fuck_ , Benny. I'm trying to actually _sleep_ for once in this fucking hellhole of a heatwave _._ Tell Eda that-"

"It's Queen Moscow herself, actually." That made more sense. Eda didn't have the patience to call ahead, instead she often showed up with her fist banging on the door.

"I'm up, I'm up!" She waved her hand dismissively as she hiked down her camo tank and wandered out into the living room. The shades were drawn from the harsh heat of the tropical sun, but the sun left it's influence in the steadily rising temperature despite the air conditioner. Nickelodeon's cartoons played on the television amidst waves of static.

"Dutch's gone for the morning, boat needs fuel," He sipped his coffee casually, as if there wasn't a mob boss waiting on the other side of the line.

"Yeah," Revy chuckled. "I'd imagine we'd need it considering we raced across the fucking Pacific ocean. What a waste. Rock?"

"Blacked out somewhere, _again_ probably considering he thinks he can drink moonshine like water. Anyway, I'm back to my room again. Holler if you need anything." Benny's voice faded as he padded down the hallway in his palm tree-d boxer shorts, the door shutting behind him. No doubt his girlfriend sending him something again; that being a nude photograph or another stunning tale of being a grade-a fuck freak.

But she was alone, _alone!_ Whatever she wanted to say to Balalaika now could be thrown out in the open. It would best to just be brutally honest like she normally was and say no, in the politest way she could because there was no way she could go out on a date with a woman who had a household full of overprotective fathers. Hell, they'd take her out if she so much as looked at the Russian. If she even _got that far_. Revy raised the silent phone to her ear and bit her lip hard. Thumbing the mute button on the remote, the gunwoman relented to the game of wits. "What ya need, sis?"

"Two Hands. Remember that favor I promised?" Her voice sounded like she just smoked her breakfast worth. The Russian accent lurked somewhere beneath, and honest to god, Revy was ready to throw the stupid phone out the window. Already she wished there was a bottle of cheap bourbon in her hand. Her feelings were always better to deal with while drunk, hence last night.

But then again... Balalaika did call her. The ball was in her court, so to speak.

"Of course, but uh, you seem to have a lot on your plate for a moment, so no worries there sis." The gunslinger replied tightly. Her left hand fiddled with a loose strand on her tank, and she eyed the freshly brewed coffee in the kitchenette.

"I seem to recall you ruining your skirt on my account," An inhalation of smoke. "You used my recommendation, yes?"

"I can't spit that much, but I did fucki- I did try it, yeah, you saw me-"

"It's ruined, isn't it? Bloodbaths do that sort of thing." Balalaika interrupted, and utterly ignored her babbling, which Revy could have kissed her for. And yeah, no shit, no wonder the Russian wore red suits. Why she wore them so damn tight was another question that would probably never be answered.

"The damn thing is done for. I'd take you up on that offer, but it's no big deal." Revy grit into the phone, her fingers tightening around the object.

"There is no problem, Two Hands. I'd be more than happy to get you another one. Your item is common to find,"

Revy was at a loss for words. Up until now, Balalaika hadn't made such a large move in their strange little game with each other that was reminiscent of schoolgirl flirting. She ran a hand nervously through her hair and eyed a smashed beer can shoved under the couch.

"You're going through all this trouble for a skirt?" She forgot the strained politeness she tried to put on.

"It's not the skirt I'm having trouble with. I do have other things to worry about... Speaking of. Tell Dutch the Latinos changed their offer. They want more." Balalaika darkly chuckled, letting out a long exhale. Revy could almost smell the cider smoke. "Of all the places where they could have set up their flag... Here. We have to make an example."

Oh. Of course, how smart of Fry Face. Couldn't just be a personal call. Sighing, Revy rubbed the back of her aching head. "Sis..."

"Hm?" The soft click of a lighter was audible through the shitty connection. Then came a muffled intake of air, before a slow exhale.

"Why are we playing around here? It's not our usual style, who's going to take the first move?" All of the blood in her body left her heart and was pounding in a circle around her temples. In all honestly, Revy never knew how Balalaika was going to act. It was either a bemused response, or a long drag of expensive cigars before letting out a response colder then where she came from.

Revy heard a professional laugh on the other side of the line. "Usual style?"

"Last time I checked, you were the one staring, sis." The plastic squeezed underneath her fist. The line was silent for a second, but Balalaika didn't miss a beat and changed the tone immediately.

"Next time Dutch drops by you'll be with him, correct?" Goosebumps raised on Revy's arms, and the feeling of being stripped and watched while she sat sweaty in the ocean returned. The tank and panties didn't feel enough for a second. Cold air prickled the back of her neck, and whipping her head around saw that nothing was there. Nothing, yeah, and her fantasies.

"I'll come. See you then, sis." Good. End it on a usual note. However Revy reacted before the obvious crush was lost on her.

"And by the way, Two Hands, don't go around spreading gossip. It'd be bad for your reputation."

Balalaika hung up before she did. Fucking bitch. Grinding her teeth, the gunwoman smashed the phone back into its receiver. The feeling of being left in the dark returned it's ugly gaze and she felt the urge to shoot a few more bullets into her bedroom walls. Sis was tugging at her clit whilst leading her around like some dog.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. She fiddled around with her guns for a bit, polishing them and seeing if they needed any manual upkeep. But most of her time was spent vegging out on the couch, on her back, hair loose, her ankle resting on her knee. Benny strolled out of room a few times, scratching his ass, to get more coffee. Rock showed up, tie wrapped around his neck, resting on his shoulders. He rubbed his temples with a soft groan, before collapsing into the armchair.

"You're shit out of luck, junior." Revy mumbled into a cigarette, watching little animations bopping one another on the noggin. "We just ran out of Tylenol, thanks to yours truly."

Seeing his miserable face dimmed the saucy grin on her face. So she hastily looked back at the television and exhaled a puff of smoke into the blinds. A little part of her, within her heart of hearts, wanted to grab him a glass of ice cold H2O but that's too fucking out of character and he would suspect something immediately.

It was astonishing how usual the hours after the phone call felt. When would the trick drag the curtain back and laugh in Revy's face? Oh by the way, Balalaika was getting a rise out of you. Trying to entertain her boring lunch break where she couldn't kill somebody. Sometimes she'd catch her face in the mirror and wonder just where the restlessness and the neediness would poke itself out in conversations.

Revy didn't want to hound Dutch as soon as he came to the apartment around six. The setting sun bled through the plastic blinds and one hit her in the eyes with the precision of a missile; she grimaced and broke.

"When are we seeing Fry Face again?" She stretched her arms behind her back.

He cocked one eyebrow behind his sunglasses, before taking a sip of the dark roast that didn't have a chance to chill in the sickening heat, despite the half-assed proclamations of protection from the air conditioner.

"Why are you asking that? Last time you were bored out of your damn skull," He flipped a page of the outdoors men-esque magazine between his hands, the soft rustle putting her at ease. When he stopped flipping through was when he had the _wrong_ \- in this case, right idea.

"She called me this morning. Latinos changed their offer. They want more of the fucking weapon shipment. Is this where we can finally put a bullet in their heads and be done with it?"

He raised one corner of his mouth and recrossed his legs. "In fair time, Revy. We'll be having another meeting soon, those Latinos move quick cause no one thinks of em'."

Revy didn't know how long she could wait. She liked the feeling of Balalaika's judgmental eyes on her body; even if it did remind her of the nameless men that thought they could fuck her for a night. Sticking her hand underneath the worn couch to find the can, she did a three-point shot into the trash can from her relaxed stance.

* * *

I couldn't help putting a dream sequence in this chapter. I'm feeling nostalgic for the older fanfics where they had their significant other appear wantonly in their dreams. Should I make the next chapter into a songfic? I kid!

Anyhow, any reviews/criticisms would be massively helpful, they're the oil to my wheel.


	4. Kiss It Better

I can't apologise enough for the lateness, life's been a bit hectic. This isn't a chapter where i scanned through for any mistakes, i wanted to put this up as soon as possible. But finally we have some more interaction between Rrevy and you-know-whooo!

Disclaimed!

* * *

It was undeniable that Balalaika made Revy feel things that Rock didn't. She'd hate to admit that something did draw her to the Russian. And Revy had no idea what it was. Whether it was her skill with her gun, the fact that years of training had honed her in ways Revy could never be? Was it the respect of a pupil into something more? Or was it the simple fact she was sexy, a real ice queen locked up in her frozen fortress under the tropical sun? Balalaika was undoubtedly darker than she was, with her dull, icy blue eyes and a hundred percent devotion on war.

Hell, Revy made a point to unwind with a drink in her hand after a long day of putting bullets in skulls. But did she ever relax? No, it wasn't fucking necessary. The living dead didn't need the fundamentals of staying alive.

"... Stay for a minute, would you Two Hands?"

Revy blinked rapidly into existence, looking around in a rushed daze. Rock and Dutch had already left, the thick mahogany door clicking shut in the otherwise silent room. Boris had left was well, undoubtedly to keep an eye on both of the men in case Rock had the stones for an argument again. Light streamed dully into the room, lighting the dust particles floating in the room. The light reignited the scar on Balalaika's face, shadows no longer hiding the dips and cracks of the old burn.

She wet her lips before replying. "Of course, sis."

Revy took an uneasy step forward, hiding in a false bravado of her usual Two Hands persona. Her eyes roamed the Russian's form. Earlier she felt uncomfortable eyeing her cleavage when Boris, Dutch, and Rock stood uneasy in the cold room; negotiating the Latinos' fate. Rock wanted them to live for a week longer, to solidify the cargo the Lagoon company was receiving from the Latinos as a 'peace offering'; while Dutch and Balalaika were on board with bombing their headquarters in the night.

She really couldn't take this shit anymore.

Balalaika's hands stretched out behind her, palms spread out flat. Her shoulders seemed broader than ever. Shadows appeared in the hollows of her collarbones and cleavage. "Now, about the skirt."

And there she went, _bending over the fucking desk._ And speaking of skirts, the damn pencil skirt was tight around her round hips. Her eyes trailed down the muscular legs clad in tights, down to the expensive pumps. Did she fucking know how good she looked? Sweat dotted at Revy's temples. She needed to leave, fuck this, Balalaika would fucking kill her if she knew what she was gawking at.

Fishing a paper bag from beside the imposing chair, Balalaika whisked her hair over her shoulder, eyes meeting Revy's and stood back up. The bag crinkled as one manicured hand held it out easily between them. Silence hung awkwardly over the situation. How strange it was, a warmonger going clothes shopping for someone that wasn't honestly affiliated with Hotel Moscow.

Taking it uneasily, Revy's calloused fingers brushed against the blonde's own. It was a bag akin to that Revy'd see in the gutters around grocery stores, but peering inside made any disappointment die on delivery. It was an ordinary skirt. Maroon, much like the color of her old one that lay crumpled in a trashcan. And it was nice. Gingerly picking it up, the fabric soft on her hands and as she rubbed it between two fingers. She tried to swallow normally. "I'll pay you bac-"

"None necessary, Two Hands. It was lost on the job I ordered your service for." Humor glinted in Balalaika's eyes.

"The guy was a real asshole," Revy snorted (and then wished she died). "I just had to put two rounds into him, he wasn't expecting _that_ shit."

It was hard to let her guard down around the Russian. Revy had seen plenty of jackasses attempting to slap Fry Face on the back and getting all chummy chummy. To put it simply, they didn't last very long making friendship bracelets. Balalaika didn't make her quick ascent to the top by playing it friendly. She couldn't get close to any one besides her comrades for obvious reasons.

But Revy could not fucking ignore the signs. Balalaika eyeing her at the stupid dock. Balalaika eyeing her at both meetings, the one today and the one before. Balalaika calling her in the fucking morning as if she was waiting for the correct time. It was a little heavy handed, but what did Revy know about subtlety? She was staring right back too, not paying any attention to Rock or Dutch or Boris or any other Russkie in the damn room.

"Yes, those Latinos are a real piece of work Two Hands. I don't know how... patient with them I can be." Balalaika replied automatically, no pun intended, but fucking skirted around the giant elephant in the room.

"They're not.. agreeing with your terms? I tried uh, listening in when Dutch was here,"

"That's putting it mildly." Balalaika touched where her cigarettes were usually stuffed - over her jacket's inside pocket, but nothing was stashed inside so her hand smoothly went to grace her hip. "They're causing tension with Abrego's lot."

"Sis, what are we doing?" Revy blurted.

The Russian blinked her wide eyes in response.

"W-We... What's happening? What am I doing here?"

"I don't know what you're saying, Two Hands." Balalaika lifted her head, already having gained back her composure.

She'd seen it in shitty romance movies Dutch'd watch a hundred times already. The man goes to touch the woman's cheek in a lame attempt to lure her into a kiss. At that part of the movie, Revy would snort into her beer and pretend not to care. When in clear reality she was hooked, or she would have slunk off to her room anyway.

Reaching one hand out, she touched the unscarred portion of Balalaika's face. Whether or not she was going to lose that hand was another matter up for debate. Revy's eyes went up and met hers, and they were so cold as if she was peering into Siberia itself. She'd always dream fitfully about how the Russian would feel, would taste like, and now she was beyond the point of no return.

Hurriedly, she kissed her. Only to fuck up. Her mouth pressed to a corner of Balalaika's lipstick-slick mouth. For a minute she thought she'd walk out unscathed.

Revy's breath left her body as a balled fist shoved itself under her rib cage. Nearly falling on her ass, she took one step backwards to balance weakened knees. The paper bag was thrown from her grasp sliding across the room. One taloned hand grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the nearest wall, shaking the books and picture frames balanced precariously on the shelves surrounding them.

Fingers wrapped around her throat and held her there. Revy tried to deliver a kick, only to have the said fingers tighten.

" _What are you doing?_!" Balalaika hissed into Revy's ear.

"I-I don't want to ignore whatever the fuck this is anymore, Sis... how about you let me go, and I'll-" Revy said through her teeth, lungs shallowly trying to get clumps of air. Her nails caught on the crimson sleeve, biting into her wrist in a vain attempt to get pressure off her neck.

Any attempt to fight her would end badly. This was a trained fucking war maniac bitch holding her by the throat and any movement could cause her to get her neck snapped. She'd seen other people- Rock included- in Balalaika's literal grasp and a high percentage of those died within a few minutes. What would the rest of the Lagoon company think? _Revy's finally gone off the deep end?_

"There are times.. where I do wonder what you think in that head of yours." Pink lips pressed close to Revy's ear; the grip slackened considerably. The blonde's hand nearly dropped from her neck; fingers curling back up again, pressing between Revy's collarbones. Her airflow came in panicked intervals and her chest ached for air as she stopped struggling in the tense silence.

Balalaika took a deep steady breath, face pressed into auburn hair. Now that she had the ability to think properly, Revy's sentence died on her tongue when she felt the taut body pressed against her sweaty own; the scar on her breast, jagged and cruel, pressed into her shoulder. Even feeling it felt painful. Blonde hair blocked most of her vision. Her shaky hand came up and pressed one hand to Balalaika's broad shoulder.

"I'm so tan compared to you." Revy whispered. It was a losing battle trying to ignore the adrenaline rush that tried to provoke her darker nature.

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She's finally pressed close with her body shaking with rage! next chapter will be up quick. Any criticisms/reviews would be appreciated


	5. Kiss It Better vol 2

Hi everyone! i thot about skipping ahead later on in time... but then i was like girl come on, u wanted to continue it too... and i think unresolved sexual tension whether theyre gazing across a room or heavy make out session.. is so delicious cause we can all feel the neediness and i hope to deliver!

Now THIS chapter i'm most afraid of! Now they're talking and there's a voice inside my head being like, it SHOULD be a hell of a lot more violent but- i'm not experienced enough in writing violence to make it entertaining, but on the other hand, balalaika/revy isn't a very lovey dovey romantic kiss-in-the-rain pairing when it comes down to it.

 _Disclaimed!_

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Balalaika's hand drew away from above her tan-lined breast slowly, taking a breath. Revy stilled as she moved away, already feeling the slow ache in under her jaw from the grip. Taking a steady breath, she licked her dry bottom lip and caught in her peripheral vision the large handgun placed between two paper stacks.

The blonde took a step away, already regaining her stoic composure. She confidently walked over to the desk; opening up a drawer that held her cigars. White-knuckling a lighter, she flicked it a few times before a blue flame flickered to life. It licked the end of the cigar lazily, before she easily slid the lighter back, flipping her mussed blonde hair back over her shoulder.

Blinking, Revy tried to get her mind back in order; laying her head against the wall. She ignored the twitch in her hand that wanted to touch her throat and see if the blonde bitch left any marks. God, she fucking wanted to shoot someone on her way home.

"F-Fuck!" She let out a strained yell and kicked the wastebasket beside the huge desk. The plastic bin, clattering against the wall, fell over on it's side; crumpled papers spilling haphazardly out of it. The sound was stark in contrast to the usual tenseness in the room. The second her boot hit the trash her anger fell flat and she was left with a wrapped bundle of confusing feelings; she wanted Balalaika to just fucking look at her so why wasn't she? It was Fry Face's office, she should be getting backhanded into next week or something. So she shoved both hands into her pockets and glared at the ground.

Balalaika didn't so much look up from a long drag. Her eyes seemed glazed over. Ash dusted into the air from her cigar. "This meeting is over, Two Hands. I've kept you too long, anyway."

Revy almost wanted to go to the door and leave, and pretend nothing happened. Go back to the apartment and watch shitty reruns of old cop shows from the seventies. Polish her guns in the comfort of air conditioning and the sounds of Benny at the his worn keyboard. Have Dutch teach her more about sailing. Annoy Rock. Sleep with him. Tell Eda about it after she'd had four beers. Listen to said whore-nun laugh about how her execution came out. And repeat. And repeat, until she forgot about masturbating to Balalaika's image in her dreams.

But she relented to the anger, that flushed her skin pink. Balalaika was making this, as always, too fucking difficult. Rounding the desk, she came to a stop a few steps away from the smoking woman. "Are you fucking kidding me, sis? I'm sick of playing around."

"Revy." She uttered into another drag.

"Look at me." Revy harshly spat, mirroring Balalaika when the blonde stared down at Rock pinned under her, on that car's fucking cold hood ; eyes narrowed as she tried to make eye contact. But once she made she almost shivered at the amount of frost that was always present in her pale blue eyes. They were so jaded it could be uncomfortable at dire times to look up and see the reflection of going through horrific shit like some exploitation movie Revy'd watch constantly as a kid.

"Revy. I'm giving you a fair warning. Get. Out." The point of her cigar indicted towards the door; her other hand coming up and rubbing her left temple, minding her long acrylics. Footsteps walking past the office made Revy's heart stop at the threat of eavesdropping.

"Or what? I'll die fingerless in some warehouse?" Revy gritted her teeth. "You'll snap my neck? Fucking _tell_ me something, Sis! What are we doing? I-I still have no idea and we can stop pussying arou-"

For a minute Balalaika didn't reply, choosing instead to grind her cigar against the glass ashtray that sat on the desk. "I could ask you the same thing, Revy. I.. suppose you caught me looking. That doesn't mean anything."

"I was looking at you too, Sis. Did you _see_ that?" The venom in Revy's voice died quick.

"I did." She replied curtly. "You have the subtlety of a hammer, Two Hands."

Now they were back on track. If there was one thing of Balalaika that Revy could understand, it was the simple fact of calling her _Two Hands_ that tensions had simmered down into a light boil. The two women looked at each other with mutual understanding, but said nothing. Eyeing the thick scar tissue that raked up the blonde's left breast, it was hard forgetting that a few minutes ago it was pressed dangerously close to her. It felt rough, but there were patches that felt surprisingly smooth all the same. She wanted to feel that skin once more, whether it would brutally injure her or not.

"I know," Revy said quickly, hands on her hips. "I _know,_ okay? And maybe I kinda fuckin' wanted you to uh, see too."

Balalaika moved in close, their chests almost bumping together, shoulders square with a domineering gaze into Revy's returning glare. Parting her lips as she spoke slowly, her Russian accent adding an underlying threat to her voice. "I have something else that needs my attention."

Revy clenched her jaw. Letting out a heated breath, she broke the shared gaze and she bitterly watched the orange sun attempt to slip through the blinds.

"Fine, I'll go Sis, maybe I'll go be with Rock and what, fuck his brains out or something?" It was a low blow, but this brought a well-suppressed surprise to the other woman's features, her eyes widening a touch.

Balalaika's eyelids flickered down and her blonde eyelashes were noticeable in the sun. On her left eye, though. Her lipstick smeared from the kiss, made her cupid's bow appear slick in the soft lighting on her sharp features. "No."

An ache blossomed throughout Revy's chest at the sound, her fist curling to suppress any uncontrollable actions. The suit was so fucking tight across her chest. And she looked so damn dispassionate and hopeless. She swallowed before responding, carefully choosing her next words. "What do you want me to do, Sis?"

A sharp knock seized them both out of the moment, with Revy taking a self-preserving pace back towards the stiff couches, indulging in an annoyed gripe at the deep Russian voice on the other side of the door. Balalaika responded easily in back in her native language, striding towards the desk chair, and settling into the rich leather with a bemused expression.

She crossed her legs with the sound of rubbing fabric and Revy blinked at the sound, chewing the inside of her cheek. Eyeing a strand of hair that stuck to the gunwoman's cheek, Balalaika gave a tired smirk that deepened her crow's feet. "We can discuss more next week. Come alone."

Ignoring any pornography plot lines popping up in her head, Revy bite her lip and nodded."What do I tell Dutch?"

"Whatever you come up with. I'm sure he won't mind. You do have the inclination to go off on your own and get in the way of others, hm?"

"..Alright." She relented, shoving her hands in her frayed jean pockets and waling casually out of the door, giving a nod to Boris who stood patiently outside of the door, still as a marble statue. He entered right after; the door shutting soundly in the polished hallway (even with it's dirty carpeting). She collected her twin guns from another one of Balalaika's personal troupe, and headed out into the harsh sun.

As soon as Revy escaped into the apartment, into her room with a six pack without so much as saying hi to the three men relaxing to the sound of eighties B movies. She kicked her boots off at the door; wiggling her freed toes. "I'm back."

"What did she want?" His tie laid around his neck.

"It was girl talk Rock, we painted our nails, drop it will ya? Dumbass."

Crumpling her second can on her forehead, she glared bitterly up at the ceiling. Today was enough to make her want to go on a bender and murder a whole neighborhood, didn't matter which. She'd go back to her old days back in New York, happily killing gang after gang with no reason at all, a cherry lollipop locked between her tongue and roof of her mouth.

But with a second thought the smirk faded from her mouth, bringing her back to Balalaika's hand wrapped around her throat. And checking in the scratched reflection of a broken mirror stashed in her drawer did she see faint bruises around her neck. But Dutch never asked questions. Benny might, with a chagrined grin; Rock would stare and stare and stare until she relented a fairy tale of another bar fight _that she won! Actually, thank you very fucking much!_

A bar fight with old Sis. What would they even think? No, she couldn't tell anyone. Taking a sip of the tin-tinted beer, she imagined long fingers and wide palms traveling up her skinny thighs, and swore when a drop of beer ran in between her tits. Next week. Next week was when she'd slip into Balalaika's office and there was a high chance of leaving in a suitcase or a body bag, Fry Face wasn't decided on which method of take-out was to her liking. She liked to _spice it up_ , as it were.

The kiss, though.. It still felt fucking embarrassing to think about, the poor execution that was lead up to by countless fantasies of her literally sweeping Balalaika off her feet, biting her lip bloody, the whole shebang. Revy didn't think she could muster up the _yaysta_ to go in for another kiss. The blonde bitch would be expecting it now.

Punching her flattening pillows into place, she flopped on her stomach and tried to go to sleep.

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yaysta means testicles in Russian. Um.. i hope so.

I hope you all enjoyed!


	6. Needed Me

Special thank you to JO WHO IF THEY DON'T HAVE A FFN ACCOUNT, THEY SHOULD MAKE ONE! for helping me out with this fanfic, god bless you!

Disclaimer!

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Once every so often Revy has a fucked-up fantasy where, there she is back at her old side-job, dancing and whipping on a sweat-dripping stage in her lingerie in front of a hundred frothing-at-the-mouth audience members. Her, in her expensive domme gear, spinning around the stage amidst bleeding submissives sobbing safe word after safe word; being utterly ignored, because the people wanted blood and a _lot_ of it.

What Revy loved especially about the job, besides taking out every ounce of her self-loathing on patrons that begged for pain, was the attention. Up there was Two Hands in her glory, reveling in the pounding beat of the trashiest metal bands that screamed into the microphones until there was a ringing in her ears as she danced along in six inch latex heels.

Appearing more often in these fantasies was Balalaika. She sat drinking at a table, the hardest liquors available to her fingertips, surrounded by her fellow gangsters. While her comrade's eyes would follow the waitresses with the thick eyeliner, the blonde's eyes rested only on Revy who'd crack her whip on the swinging lights when everyone had enough of the lashing.

Staring. That's all Balalaika did. Especially in this current _meeting_ if that was correct to actually call it, on her heels behind the desk. One broad palm rested leisurely on the table. Her breast skimmed Revy's arm.

Revy had casually strolled up earlier, trying to mask the slight anxiousness she'd carried over with her from the drive over; thinking of this fucked up predicament. Earlier she'd hunched over in the drivers seat and had taken a few long gulps of a lukewarm Jack Daniels' that she found laid out in the backseat, just to take the edge off her nerves. She'd worn the skirt, fucking duh, the fabric rubbing soft against her skin.

Lighting a cigarette, Revy leaned against the blonde's side of the desk, cupping her hands to protect the lighter from being extinguished from the intense air conditioning.

Strangely enough, Balalaika had been a few minutes late, with her two men in the room supervising an idle Revy who glanced around the larger, dark room, trying to get a feel for whatever indoor designer planned for this place. Her cowboy boots clicked awkwardly on the floor and she gnawed a nail. But then the mafia queen walked at a torturous pace, her thighs prominent in the tight skirt.

"It'd be too telling to meet at my quarters." Balalaika said curtly once she saw the door shut solidly behind Boris. Her hair was washed until it shone and one hand was already fingering a lighter. She often treated her cigars with more respect then Revy would treat a whole packet; with only using matches brandished by Boris. But in the anxiety of what both knew this meeting was for the sudden carefulness dissipated into a need for nicotine.

"They wouldn't know, right? I'm woman, they wouldn't know that you'd be wanting to fuck me."

Balalaika broke eye contact, instead taking to look at the smoke spiraling to the ceiling. An intimidating silence passed. Then she returned the shared look.

Revy did a harsh swallow, eyes flickering down. A mere few inches separated her from the most dangerous fucking woman in the world, and the only thing that was prominent in her mind was carnality. Her lips parted to reply, only to be harshly interrupted.

"Do you want me to-"

Balalaika brought herself closer, blowing a lazy curl of smoke into the gunwoman's face, eyes lit up with a faint open-pupil look of contained lust. "Let's avoid another discussion for today,."

The blonde's mouth was harsh; all teeth and lipstick smeared over Revy's bottom lip as she sucked on it. She fought desperately to make a dent in Balalaika's seemingly infallible armor; but the woman remained statuesque. Wrapping her hands around her upper waist. Revy let a stray whimper into the kiss, taking a quick break to stare down at the row of buttons going down Balalaika's chest. Did she even want to go straight to fucking? Impulsively attacking the first strained button she was met with a calloused hand wrapping bruises around her wrist.

Finishing with a swipe of her tongue, Balalaika shook her head with her mouth pressing into a line. "There's no need for that, Rebecca."

"What's up with the formality, _Sis_ , I'm just Two Hands remember?" Revy bit out, trying to hide her flushed cheeks in grinding teeth. Leaning in for another kiss, she lapped teasingly into Balalaika's still mouth, attempting to tease the ice queen into warming up. Cigar ash dusted across the desk, and Balalaika pushed her away disdainfully.

Taking another drag, the Russian closed her eyes and her chest barreled with inhaled air. "You have to understand that this whole... situation is rather difficult, _Two Hands_."

She smirked, turning around to look at Revy in her disheveled glory. Balalaika sniffed it in the glass ashtray, before Revy came closer again, chests bumping against each other.

"You want me to just eat you out, that's it? Cause I could have fuckin' done that last time we met up."

Balalaika laughed sharply.

Revy earned quickly that there wasn't going to be a full-frontal Balalaika anytime soon. And while she felt disappointment at the fact her fantasies would remain purely that, fantasies, it didn't mean that she herself couldn't strip down. It was rushed, with her panties yanked down her thighs. Sitting her bare ass on the chilled desk; Revy looked looked through mussed hair strands at the cleavage pushing out of the Russian's dress shirt.

Eyeing her acrylics, the gunwoman shook her head. "There's no way you're sticking those damn nails up my cunt, Sis."

Balalaika grinned, taking a soft part of Revy's thigh between her thumb and pointer until it stung so bad she kicked back in retaliation. Glaring up at the humor in Balalaika's eyes, she shut her legs with the dull click of her combat boots meeting.

"Mhm. Rebecca, don't be coy." One of the blonde's hands rubbed in slow motions on her thigh, and Revy looked heatedly down. Her legs opened again, slower this time, sweaty thighs clumsily gliding across the desk. Folders strewed across the floor, and while Balalaika's eyes did flick to them, she still had the image of Revy's slick center.

Slipping further up her leg; Balalaika pressed the pad of her thumb into her folds; her nail narrowly escaping from clawing the entrance. Revy shuddered, leaning into her and pressing hot kissed into the scar tissue wrapping around her necks. It felt fucking good, despite the vulnerability that crept along her spine. Her clit swelled as her thumb rubbed against it's inner fold. She dragged her teeth across thicker scar tissue.

Balalaika swallowed a gasp that bubbled in her throat, but Revy was so close she felt the swell of the throat she was sucking on.

"Ост- Leave no marks," the blonde strained, separating the pulsing folds and making her whine in response. Revy shoved her hand underneath the tight red skirt, two fingers rubbing hastily against satiny undergarments. The scars on her thighs rubbed against her wrist, and tucking the panties to the side Revy prepared to enter inside.

The kiss was, all in all, fucking sloppy after the two participants began to gasp into each others mouth, A sharp twist of teeth and blood was dripping down Revy's chin, and Balalaika slid her tongue precisely up the splatter and returning, a sharp metallic tang causing Revy to gag.

Using her whole hand to rub, she spread Revy and begin touching her to the point of pain and all the gunwoman could do was moan into her mouth.

Shoving her fingers inside Balalaika's folds, Revy grinned into the kiss and landed a quick bite at the woman's mouth in return, pubic hair tickling her knuckles. She heard a curse in Russian - and she knew it was a curse, because ol' Sis had hissed it every so often- and her ego inflated at the thought of having the queen of Roanapour quivering with carnal need.

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Next chapter will be up soon- next week most likely. And i snatched the idea for balalaika calling revy 'rebecca' from AddictedFangirl101's fic Do Me Wrong, which if you havent read, need to do so now!


	7. YOUR GIRL

Thank you everyone for your patience. Life's been busy- I know, what an excuse! enjoy! I wouldnt have never abandoned this fun little story, i'd have to finish it, one way or another.

Dsiclaimed

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It was fucking difficult to return to ordinary meetings with Dutch and Rock inside Balalaika's office. Any fucking item in that office brought flashes of memories to Revy's aching head. The desk was a prominent one. She'd sat across it, legs spread, cunt beginning to hurt from the rough caresses. The leather couches that was cold to the backs of her thighs as she sat on it, spine straight because damn if being around Balalaika didn't inspire a little prim and proper.

The topic remained exposed, like an open nerve, that neither of the women came close to touching. Balalaika treated her like the good ol' Two Hands she was- an ally true to the cause of Hotel Moscow, to the side of Dutch. But distant. Gone were the feeling of eyes raking down her body, gone were the quick after-meeting chats, and gone was it just being the two of them. Afterwards one soldier would waltz in, statuesque, or another company that she kept tabs on. When Dutch was there it was like she didn't exist. Instead she'd absentmindedly watch the soft slick ring of lipstick wrap around a shrinking cigar in the Russian's hand.

She'd shown up braless, waving her arms about in tight crop tops; in chopped Daisy Dukes, pantiless. Fucking anything. But Balalaika's eyes were always on Dutch or Rock.

There were nights where she lay on her creaking mattress and she wanted to press out Balalaika's personal hotline; maybe hear false formalities with a suck of a cigar. Revy would cup her groin through her underwear and just wish that the Russian had left something, a scratch, a bullet hole, anything to remind her that fucking in that stupidly expensive office was real. Not some drunk hallucination. Just lying there, staring out of the newly-cracked window she shivered. Just thinking of those long acrylics dragging down her skin, leaving thin red lines in their wake, was enough to make her throb again. It had been three weeks.

Her boots hit the ground with soft scuffs. Revy kicked crunched cans and newspapers that stuck to the ground. Her heart was pounding in her chest again; the cars that went by didn't help the stirring hangover in her temples.

"You must actually be like, thinking this time... fuck! " Eda had laughed into her bourbon, which earned her the barrel of a gun almost going up her nose. This was last night, typical Sunday spent drinking, and over the course of a week Revy's fucking nerves were dragged across the floor, ala nails on a chalkboard, because of that fucking persistent hangover. Because every night once she saw Bao's face he'd roll out a bourbon, scollding for a tip.

Hotel Moscow is a heavily guarded fortress that was disguised in the mask of a normal building. Revy could clock the two watchmen- one on the roof and another innocuously smoking a cigarette, leaning against a tinted window.

She confidently strutted across the filthy street and palmed open the heavy door; glancing at the guard dogs who wear coats in ninety degree weather, before walking in.

They do frisk her, and Boris does pay a visit, because it's Dutch who's supposed to call in ten minutes before and bring in the status updates. It was just lucky for Revy to see the stack of carefully-stapled (Rock) papers on the dingy kitchen table.

The sergeant took a quick read through the packet, huge fingers surprisingly deft, as another man patted down Revy's ribs. She fucking hates being touched, hates being frisked, and hates watching her two babies get whisked away to god-knows-where. She'd just feel safer with a gun. Especially in an area full of Ivan war junkies. There's a pulsing pre-migraine train wreck rattling behind her eyes, which almost cost the lives of three people that bumped shoulders with her on the sidewalk.

When she cautiously opened the heavy door, Revy saw her blonde bent head, eyelashes downcast to the slew of paperwork that covered the desk. And Revy fucking tried to ignore how she dripped had cum on the stained wood in their last private meeting.

"You're carrying them today?" Her voice has a slight rough edge to it, as if she drank bourbon with cigar ash. Two paper cups that reeked of black coffee sat empty next to her moving hand. Balalaika raised her eyes up at the entering woman, before returning to scribbling signatures in red.

"Yeah, was passing through and Dutch though to kill two birds with one stone."

"Mhm." She replied, noncommittally and without looking at her. Without really listening to her. The blonde was content to let Revy prattle on as if she was Rock, going on another philosophical rant.

Anger spread like a virus in Revy's chest; red flashed in the corners of her eyes. Once the door clicked reassuringly she paced forward, slapping the documents down. Biting her lower lip to stop any vicious words; she gave a taunting smile. The action almost missed Balalaika's fingertips and she faced the Chinese woman scarily quick, annoyance written clear across her face.

"So, now that I rubbed you off, you don't want to talk to me like a person anymore, huh, sis?" The words left her mouth a second before her brain could catch up, her eyes widening in the heat of the sudden angry glare upon her. If only anger even covered what Balalaika looked at her with.

A fist slammed into her stomach, almost up under her ribs. Revy stumbled backward and gasped. The urge to vomit was overpowering. Taking an uneasy swallow, she glared angrily at the offender. Her fingers touched where her holsters normally were, only to remember her guns where in another room.

Without any delay was her throat choked again, long nails biting into where her pulse thumped beneath, panicked. Balalaika looked at her, teeth clenched and shoulders tight, nostrils flared before bringing Revy closer to her, up front to the gnarled burn down her face.

Revy's stomach pinched into the desk, to the point where she let a labored gasp of pain; her body at an almost angle. Her toes held her standing on the floor. For a split second nothing was uttered, only the slow lack of air entering her lungs. She gripped the thin wrist and glared back at her, chin lifted, a struggling sign of dominance.

Shoving Revy away with, Balalaika rounded the desk. Her hair mussed around her shoulders and fell down her back. Chest rising with each slow inhale, she stood in front of the minuscule light that filtered in from the window.

"What has gotten into that skull, Two Hands?" She hissed, her accent snaking into her words. "Don't you have your salaryman to return to? I'll have you shipped back in pieces, if necessary. And I'll make an educated guess that it will be."

The gunwoman steadied, planting both feet on the floor. "What has gotten into me? _Fuck_ , you think we can just, fuck and forget about it? That you used me like some living sex toy and just stop talkin' to me?"

Revy coughed whilst feeling the ache of an already bruised esophagus.

"You wanted a wedding? An anguished phone call in the middle of the night?" Balalaika teased, running a hand through her hair in a attempt to fix it. The humor left her face in a second, replaced by intrigue at how the mysterious _Two Hands_ would react to such a spat.

Revy looked away. Her fists curled. There was no way she could fight hand to hand with a trained war maniac. There was no way to scramble over to the dragunov that was propped on a shelf. Hell, If she even managed a punch her men would rush in and easily stomp her face in. Soft clicks on the waxed wood snapped her out of making a panicked escape plan. Rock told her of how easily Balalaika could snap a grown man's neck. The sound was cold in the still room, and her stomach prepared for another hit.

"I never thought of you as a _sex toy,_ as you put it so.. articulately." The blonde muttered, resting the side of her hand on Revy's collarbone, fingers wrapping loosely around her neck and pressing into the red marks she already left. She traced the marks softly, before pressing the nail of her thumb into the flesh until Revy hissed.

Revy hated how her body reacted to this shit. Just a brush of her hardened fingertips and she was already docile, legs spread for fucking.

"I'm tired of you not answering my fucking questions." She whispered, her brown eyes almost wavering in their intense shared look. Anxiousness bubbled in her stomach. Vulnerability. Another thing Revy can't fucking stand, add it to the list. "I fucking hate you, I hate you, why the _fuck did we do this_. _"_

She snarled, shoving the taller woman's shoulder. The blow nicked into the flesh dully, the broad body offering many places to land a half-decent hit.

"How did I offend you, Two Hands? Did you want everyone to know what happened between us? To tell the entire world?" Balalaika let out a soft chuckle into her ear, squeezing the wrist until Revy felt her bones groan. Easily holding Revy's struggling arm, she tilted her head teasingly. "Go on."

Revy opened her mouth to reply, about ready to unload sentence after sentence of how fucking used she felt afterwards. The meaningless meetings where she might as well have been a coat rack. She continued to grunt and hiss while trying to tug her arm away. "Forget that, sis. Why the fuck did you ignore me? Are you tired of me yet, _bitch_?"

Instead of answering her questions, instead of fucking letting Revy go and sitting her down and explaining whatever sexual frustration she had to get out, Balalaika slid her tongue in between Revy's parted chapped lips and kissed her slowly. Her body felt tense to the touch; her scar grazing Revy's smooth cheek.

And the mask of the face Revy was wearing, the facade she strapped carefully into before finally talking to the Russian again, cracked in two as soon as she felt the other's body press into hers. A strangled whimper left her lips, as the taloned-hand around her neck tightened slightly when she openly groped Balalaika's hip; a silent reminder that _no Revy can't feel up her ass_. This was happening. It wasn't an awkward drug trip or daydream, it was fucking Balalaika who didn't push her away.

"I-I hate you, I hate you, fuck you," She whined between the kisses, her brows creasing and her fingers digging into the muscled flesh of her ass, deciding to grope her anyway. Saliva wet the corners of her lips.

Balalaika removed her hand from around Revy's neck to her waist, feeling the exposed skin. Revy felt her brushing the thin knife scars she earned in prison. In retaliation she groped higher, along where Balalaika's own scars snaked around her figure. A gasp was muffled against her lips and Revy ran her hands down lower, digging her fingers into the flesh of her hips, nails brushing the no-zone.

The blonde was pushed against the desk, Revy hiking up her stupidly tight pencil skirt up her thighs. The suit was wrinkled around the armpit and the waist, but tight as a drum on her shoulders and hips and of course, her tits. She took a daring squeeze of her chest, massaging where the nipple dented the fabric.

"You need to go," Balalalaika breathed into her hair, before biting her jaw. "I have other arrangements that demand my attention."

"Forget that shit." Revy replied, unbuttoning her suit jacket one-handed. The skirt was around her hips, wrinkled and showing the lace of a garter. Revy grinned, flashing her teeth. She traced where it followed up to black panties.

Snatching her wrist, the blonde pulled back, shaking her head. "No one can suspect this. You show up, alone, carrying a non-crucial-"

"Oh, hell." Revy rolled her eyes and turned away. Balalaika's grip on her wrist narrowed and she dragged her closer until her tight-clad leg glided between the gunslinger's thighs.

"Listen to me. There can be no knowing of what we do."

"Then we'll meet somewhere else. Or will you be surrounded there too?" She snapped back, weakly due to what the blonde was doing with her thigh.

"Cheeky." Balalaika laid another wet, biting kiss, before easing Revy away and straightening her skirt. She brushed her hair over her shoulders before pointing to the door. "I'll call you when we have more then ten minutes."

"So I'll leave with my shorts soaked?" Revy grouched, tugging her shirt down.

"Clench your thighs together." The blonde stated bluntly, already searching for a cigar. She flicked the lighter to make sure it worked with the pad of her thumb.

"We'll finish this."

The blonde took a dry drag and nodded once more, giving a small tired smile with a corner of her lips.

* * *

Played around with some different ideas... but this'll be the concluding chapter of our little story. I had fun writing it, and plan to do more revy/bala in the near future! I love both their characters- what i'd give for Rei Hiroe to talk about their personal thoughts... Although Balalaika was the most mysterious. In my opinion revy never had a childhood, never had a chance to emotionally grow up- hence whitman fever and how she acts like a lil brat sometimes.

I'll see you all again soon. Critiques welcome!


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